Back to the previous page

Artist: Popa Chief f/ Preacherman
Album:  Brain Food
Song:   What's Messin' Wit Dat?
Typed by: Cno Evil

[Intro: Preacherman]
Can you tell me, what's messin' with that?
Oh yeah, Preacher Man and Chief

[Popa Chief]
Everybody wanna ball hard, all the way to the championship
Every foot is not the glass slipper fit
Everybody wanna be, Jada's and Jordan's
But everybody ain't nice, so that feeling's going
Life's a gamble, whether you got a job, hustle with scramble
With pot holders, it's too hot to handle
Great ones, do great things, peasant the king, attack
The game, with Barry Bonds swing, be the Lord of the Rings
Judge me not for material things
Although I love the game and the joy it brings
Don't make me harpoon the moon, a platoon of goons
Half rap, half cloone, banging that showtune
Hell yeah, I move weight, the form of CD's and tapes
Watch eyes on purpose to keep me scared straight
The only way they catch me is coming out the weed gate
So donut dunkings better be in shape, I rock the cape

[Chorus: Preacherman (Popa Chief)]
Can you tell me? (what's messing with that?)
Do you hear me? (what's messing with that?)
Get this money (what's messing with that?)
Ya'll don't hear me (what's messing with that?)
A house on the hill (what's messing with that?)
Twenty four inch wheels (what's messing with that?)
Ya'll don't hear me (what's messing with that?)
Ya'll don't smell that (what's messing with that?)

[Popa Chief]
I got all out for the rap shit, piss in pots
Islamic, empty the clip, nobody hot like I hit this
And proven, technique's I'm using, got 'em moving
I got the haters and the lovers feuding
And when the smoke clears, Popa Chief is still here
Blazing a forest and guzzling beer after beer
Here's a kick in the crotch, I do it, no matter who watch
Burn all my biskuts, keep my foot in the pot
And my nose to the grind, my money on my mind
Keep my hand on some kind, my lips off the swine
Not to be fucked with like the alarm, I got the shield
I stay in the laboratory like Dexter, it's time to build
Without slinging drugs, without talking hot slugs
Mo buds, mo suds, less hate, more love
Rap pearls, ghetto girls, gangsters and thugs
Rap need anger management, this rap to hug

[Chorus]

[Popa Chief]
I don't break down bricks, bag dimes and nicks
I don't run a four point 0 in the forty like Michael Vick
But, before I get boxed and drop six feet in the dirt
I'mma hit the rap game right, with rehearsing the family jewels
That ain't cool, Popa Chief break all the rules
You see what happen to Mike Tyson? It can happen to you
This the thirtiest, hungriest, verbal specialist
My aim game's the nastiest, holla round the neck with this
Fuck the fancy bubbles and unpronouncable labels
Hungryman plate me my proposal's on the table
A slice of the pie, won't even cut it, live life to the fullest
See all limits, Die Hard like Bruce Willis
Leave all obstacles, break all barriers
Treat haters like AIDS carriers, don't get mad
Get your own, and enough meat on this bone
No fucking clones, lintballs go home

[Chorus]

[Outro: Preacherman (w/ Popa Chief)]
Ahhhhhhhh... one more time.... ahhhhhhhh...
What's messing with that? What's messing with that?
What's messing with that? What's messing with that?
What's messing with that? What's messing with that?
What's messing with that? What's messing with that?